


Freak

by shampoo153



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canonical Child Abuse, Gen, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-24
Updated: 2013-11-24
Packaged: 2018-01-02 13:32:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1057352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shampoo153/pseuds/shampoo153
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He loved the spiders, they took away all of the pain and he couldn't survive without the spiders in the cupboard under the stairs. His name is Freak, or Brat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Freak

Freak

A little boy with unkempt black hair curled into himself, by the slight shaking of the shoulders and the small sniffling noise that escaped every once in a while, one could easily tell that the child was crying. Despite the occasional sniffle, which was very faint, the child made no noise at all.

The little boy was in a cupboard, with cleaning supplies and spiders all over the place, so naturally the child had an unnaturally white complexion; almost ethereal looking, but it was really a reaction to some of the chemicals he had mistakenly ingested when he was a toddler. As one could easily conclude, the child also saw the spiders as his companions; as they were the only living things around that did not hurt him or shout at him.

As a brown spider skittered in front of the boy, the boy softly caught the spider in his hand and brought the spider to him.

He had once heard his Aunt Petunia tell Dudley that when you kissed someone, it meant that you loved him or her or cared very deeply for them.

He loved the spiders, so he figured that he should show this love. With this thought in mind, the child brought the spider to his lips and kissed it. He then put his hand down and allowed the spider to skitter off.

The boy, who recognized himself as "Freak," and "Brat," stopped crying and smiled, now at peace with himself. Freak closed his eyes and fell asleep.

* * *

Freak said nothing as he made dinner. Uncle Vernon got a promotion and wanted everyone to know, meaning that Freak had to make much, much more food to accommodate them all. Aunt Petunia had rented out a banquet hall for the occasion and Freak had to come to work in the kitchen and help set up.

As they, Freak and Aunt Petunia, worked, Freak had glanced briefly at a truck as it passed by, large words displayed on its side. Freak had never learned to read, so he did not know what it said. He put the truck to the back of his mind where it was to be forgotten as he helped Aunt Petunia set up the hall for the party.

* * *

Uncle Vernon snarled at Freak that night, before he started to beat him. Uncle Vernon had had a little too much to drink and was more easily infuriated. Freak had accidentally dropped a couple of pans on the way back into the house, setting off his uncle's easy temper. During the beating, Freak simply closed his eyes and thought of how, when his uncle got tired, he would go into his cupboard and be with the spiders.

Panting, Uncle Vernon opened the cupboard door and Freak saw his spiders on the floor, dead. Agony ripped at his chest as he frantically looked for a dusty brown one.

His chest relaxed slightly when he saw the dusty brown spider, until he saw it scatter out of the cupboard. In a moment of pure terror on his spider's part, his uncle squashed it before shoving him into the dark room of his dead friends.

* * *

A month has passed since that day, and not once had Freak seen any spider. He had taken out his friends' little bodies and had buried them in the flower garden while he was working. Every day, without the spiders, the pain had been building and building. There were no spiders there, no thing to take away the pain and ease his sleep. He was now alone in a cruel, cold world.

Suffering, Brat saw a sharp dagger Dudley had traded with some delinquent for his broken air rifle. Giving a brief glance around, Freak picked it up and stowed it into his shirt, careful not to cut or stab himself by accident.

That night, Freak carefully slid the dagger's sharp edge over, and in, the veins in his wrist. He was only mildly surprised when the only pain he felt was a series of small pricks in his wrist. He watched, fascinated, at the blood that poured out of his arm. Suddenly, Freak felt awfully tired. Yawning, Freak closed his eyes and died.

He never expected dying to be as easy as falling asleep.


End file.
